


Sugar & Home

by theGirlwiththebrokenSmile



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: John loves him a lot, M/M, Paul is sleepy & soft, flying in a plane, here you go, i'm not sure what the point of this is, is that even a tag?, oh well, there's nothing new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theGirlwiththebrokenSmile/pseuds/theGirlwiththebrokenSmile
Summary: basically, Paul fell asleep on John's lap and John's tired too but can't sleep cause he's starving, has a headache and needs to pee//basically, I wrote this at 3 in the morning & don't know what to do with it
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 9
Kudos: 101





	Sugar & Home

.

.

The sky is black outside the small window, behind the half-closed blinds. The air in the plane is cool and the stewardess was walking around earlier, passing out blankets. Brian booked the whole business class just for them, so it’s very empty. John’s sitting in the rear part of the plane, with Paul on his lap.

The younger boy fell asleep a while ago, which is a small miracle. Normally he can’t sleep in planes, or trains, or cars, at all. He must have been too exhausted though and is nuzzling against John’s neck, breathing slowly, peacefully. His weight is familiar, comforting.

John is tired himself but not able to fall asleep. Despite loving to have Paul sleep in his lap like this, he just can’t relax. He hasn’t eaten or used the bathroom in hours and while his stomach is painfully empty, his bladder is painfully full. Also, there is a headache building behind his forehead, probably from the air-condition, or the exhaustion. Also, he really, really wants a cigarette.

He buries his nose in Paul’s hair instead and breaths him in slowly. He smells like warm skin and sugar and home. John looks down at him, watching those long, dark eyelashes against rosy cheeks and the perfect shape of his nose. He takes another breath and a feeling of tenderness fills his body, so intensely he wants to rip his chest open and pull Paul inside him, closer than anything, safely, hidden from the world.

It’s a strange thought. John is blaming his tiredness and his headache for it. His vision is slightly blurry as he looks out the window again, pitch-black. He blinks, closes his eyes, he can’t help it. He feels Paul press his nose to his collar bone.

He must have fallen asleep for a few minutes; when he opens his eyes again, he sees George walking through the aisle, towards him. He sits down in the row beside John and Paul’s and leans on the armrest, looking as tired as John feels. His brown hair is a mess.

“What are you doing here?”, John asks quietly, narrowing his eyes, pulling Paul even closer, though that’s barely possible.

George looks at him tiredly and sighs. “Ringo is snoring. So. Loud.”

John snorts, rolling his eyes. “And yer surprised by that because . . .?”

“Not surprised. Just horrified. Producing those noises cannot be healthy.” He rubs at his eyebrow. “Surprised Paul’s sleeping. How’d ya manage that?”

“Dunno. ‘m just very comfortable to sleep on.”

“Hm. Sure. Thought you’d be asleep too after last night and all that running around yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, thought so too.” John strokes Paul’s tight softly, cupping his knee in his palm. “Turns out ‘m too bloody hungry to sleep. Got a headache too and no ciggies left and need a piss.”

“Hm”, George makes, not seeming too sympathetic. “Why didn’t ya eat the casserole the stewardesses brought us earlier?”

John wrinkles his nose. “That stuff smelled like rotten eggs.”

“Tasted good though. Had broccoli florets inside.”

“I hate broccoli florets.” 

“I can bring ya an aspirin? Or wait, no, they’re in my check-in bag. Have no ciggies left either. If ya need a piss, you should wake Paulie. It’ll be another two hours before we land.”

“Jeez, thanks for the help. And ’m not waking him”, John says, even though he really, really needs to go by now. Having Paul pressed this close against him doesn’t help either, but he wouldn’t dream to push him away. He rubs his thumb over Paul’s knee cap, trying to think of something else. “What time is it anyways?”

George blinks at his watch. “Half three in the morning. Don’t think there’ll be any girls to greet us at the airport, thank God. Brian said we get a few hours in the hotel before the press conference. So ya can sleep then, at least.”

John nods, leaning his head back. They’re quiet for a while, the engine of the plane and the soft humming of the air condition the only sounds. George closes his eyes, his chin propped up on his hand.

“’m just gonna . . .”, he says, trailing off. A few seconds later he’s asleep. John glowers at him. Unbelievable.

He looks around the plane but there is really nothing to do. Nobody else seems to be awake. John rolls his eyes, annoyed at the entire situation. After a while, he grabs the book he brought on board, opening it. It’s a historical novel and definitely not the most captivating thing he ever read, but what else can he do?

He reads a chapter, then another. His eyes drop shut twice and he blinks heavily both times, trying to focus on the words and not the sharp pain in his temple or the throbbing pain in his bladder. The words make no sense, though, and blur together after a while, muddy, like he’s seeing them through a puddle. The dim light in here and the fact that there is literally no plot don’t help either. Jesus, who calls their child _Adelgunde?_

Suddenly he feels Paul moving against him, mumbling something unintelligible against John’s skin, before he seems to wake up. He lifts his head, his dark eyes finding John’s, who puts his book away, frowning.

“Hey, what are you doing awake?”, he says softly, stroking Paul’s black hair. “Go back to sleep.”

Paul rubs at his eyes and yawns loudly, incredibly endearing. “You’re squirming.”

“What? Oh.” John stills his body immediately, forcing his left leg to stop bouncing. “God, sorry, didn’t notice.”

“Hm”, Paul makes, not too bothered by it. He leans his temple against John’s chin, smacking his lips. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just need to use the bathroom. It’s fine.” Despite his uncomfortableness, he grabs Paul’s legs as the other boy starts to move away. “Wait, what are you doing?”

Paul lifts his head and blinks at him, confused. “Getting up so you can go to the bathroom?”

“I said it’s fine.” He pulls him closer again, needing him close, more than anything probably. “Try to go back to sleep, yeah?”

Paul leans back against the window, eying him suspiciously. “Can’t now. Can’t believe I fell asleep in the first place – how long was I out?”

John grins. “Three hours. That’s a record. All thanks to me, of course.”

“Hm.” Paul lifts a hand to his face, stroking John’s cheek. He still looks tired, soft, comfy. His eyes flutter shut before he opens them again to look at John. The dim light reflects in them. His index finger traces John’s lip, so he leans forward to bite at it softly. Paul giggles delighted, pulling his hand back.

“Is Ringo snoring again?”, he asks, nodding over to George, who’s still asleep.

“Yep. ‘m glad he’s far away enough.”

He taps his fingers against Paul’s leg, swiping his tongue across his teeth. His stomach grumbles suddenly, sounding less human, more like a wale. Paul is raising an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you eat?”

“The food was _disgusting_ ”, John defends, rubbing at his aching temple. Jesus. This is the worst flight of all times. He can’t wait for it to end.

Paul’s hand is back on his face, soothing. “You have a headache too? Why didn’t you just wake me?”

“Cause you were _sleeping_ on a _plane_ ”, John explains, rather impatient now.

Paul looks unimpressed. “I can sleep at the hotel later, so can you. That always worked. I’m not sick.”

Before John can protest, he’s getting up from his lap, grabbing his backpack. His black hair is tousled, his too-big shirt crumbled slightly. He still looks sleepy and John is yearning to reach out to him again. He can feel the distance between them like a bitter-sweet ache in his chest. 

Paul starts rummaging through the bag and shoots him a quick glance. He’s looking bossy now. “Okay, you go to the bathroom, while I find that granola bar I have somewhere in here and then you’re gonna sleep till we land, okay?”

There’s that wrinkle on his forehead that tells John he won’t have any argument and he honestly sees no point in it anyways. He gets up, stroking his finger over Paul’s cheek, before walking down the aisle, to the small bathroom on the right. It smells like mint and cleaning agents and he normally avoids using the on-board toilets, but he can tell that the next one-and-a-half hour would’ve been hell.

He relieves himself, washing his hands after, while staring in the tiny mirror. He feels better already. The water is cold at his hands and he splashes some in his pale face, running his hand through his already ruffled hair. He looks like shit. He’s not looking forward to the press conference later today, just glad they still got some time till then.

When he’s back at their seats, Paul smiles at him, brighter than the sun. He pushes John back to his seat, passing him a blanket, a granola bar and a water bottle.

“I even found an aspirin”, he says proudly.

“Thanks, mum”, John replies, rolling his eyes, but he’s secretly grateful. He leans back in the seat and opens the wrapper. The bar is filled with chocolate and nuts and he eats it with relish, trying not to groan at how good it tastes. He takes the aspirin after, washing it down with the cool water Paul’s gave him.

Paul put a banket over George as well in the meantime and John watches him thoughtfully. His pretty face looks even softer in the orange lights in here and when he meets his gaze, John can just make out the little green flecks dancing in his dark eyes. That soft ache spreads across his chest once more.

“Come back here?”, he asks after a minute and Paul obeys, smiling. He crawls over the seat til he’s back in the older boy’s lap. John wraps his arms around him and pulls him close again. He leans his cheek against Paul’s head, his dark hair tickling his skin, and closes his eyes.

His breath slows down and he can already feel himself dropping off to sleep, like he’s sinking under water. The darkness is comforting and so is the warmth wrapped around him and Paul’s delicate fingers stroking over his biceps soothingly. The last thing he remembers before falling asleep is the smell of sugar and home. 

.

.


End file.
